


Sweet Seventeen

by PrettyInSoulPunk



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Birthday, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, alpha!Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-02-13 00:23:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2130078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyInSoulPunk/pseuds/PrettyInSoulPunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles knows that Derek must have a good reason for not showing up at his birthday party, but he still can't help feeling slighted by his absence. </p><p>~*~</p><p>(This is set somewhere in season 3A, but before the Darach and Alpha pack madness since we know Stiles' birthday is in April.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Seventeen

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first completed Sterek fic, and it's for my [KatieCat](http://mspennycrumb.tumblr.com/). Happy birthday, boo!!! :D ♥

It's been a good birthday Stiles thinks, as he makes his way through the house in a lazy attempt at cleaning up. He's seventeen now, although he doesn't really feel any different. The party had been a pleasant surprise, and the Sheriff (along with Scott's help) even made sure that Stiles' friends were there too. 

Most of them, anyway.

Stiles knows that Derek must have his reasons for not showing up, but he still feels slighted by his absence. They may not have always been the best of friends, but a lot has changed over the past year. They still tease and snark at each other as usual, but they're always there for each other when it matters the most. They're _pack_ now, and all Stiles really wanted for his birthday was to spend the evening with everyone he loves. 

Now that the festivities are over, Stiles finally has the place to himself. The Sheriff is probably already at the station, and Stiles is looking forward to some peace and quiet. He's a little bummed that his dad has to work overnight, but at least they managed to spend most of the day and evening together. 

Once the house looks presentable enough, Stiles trudges up to his room and flops down onto the bed. There isn't anything good on TV, so he pulls out his laptop and settles for making a dent in his overflowing Netflix queue. 

He's halfway through _The Dark Knight Rises_ when there's a sudden rustling outside his bedroom window. He curses the effect it has on his heartbeat because he knows that sound anywhere. When his visitor doesn't make an immediate appearance, Stiles keeps an eye on the window until he sees a momentary flash of red. 

Several minutes of silence pass, before Stiles crosses the room and slides the window open with a little more force than is probably necessary.

"Get in here already, Creeper Wolf. Before my neighbors see you lurking, and call my dad."

Derek can feel the blood rushing to his face, but he doesn't hesitate to poke his head inside the window on Stiles' command.

"How did you know I was out here?" he asks, and Stiles absolutely does _not_ adore the way the tips of Derek's little ears turn pink.

"Your eyes," Stiles explains, before offering Derek a hand to help drag him the rest of the way into the room. Their fingers entwine briefly, and Stiles is surprised by how soft Derek's hands are. 

"They glow whenever you're being broody."

"They do _not_ ," Derek mutters, and reluctantly lets go of Stiles' hand once he's inside the room.

"Do _so_." Stiles can be equally immature. "So what's your problem?" he continues, quirking an amused eyebrow before crawling back into bed. 

Derek merely shrugs, which explains nothing. 

Stiles doesn't press because it speaks volumes that Derek is even there in the first place. 

Baby steps.

"You can sit, you know," Stiles offers, and gestures around the room. 

"What, no dog joke?" Derek smirks and considers his available seating options. He looks awkwardly between the empty computer chair and the foot of Stiles' bed, before choosing the latter. He's never sat on Stiles' bed before, and hopes he isn't overstepping any boundaries.

Stiles doesn't seem to mind.

"So how was the party?" _Might as well get it over with_ , Derek thinks, as he perches gingerly on the foot of Stiles' bed. 

"Oh, so you _didn't_ forget?" Stiles snaps, surprising himself by the unexpected surge of anger.

"No," Derek admits, hanging his head slightly; he looks ashamed. Stiles would hug him if they did that sort of thing, (and if he weren't so annoyed) but their contact is generally limited to life-threatening situations. "I'm sorry. I just -- "

"Save it, dude. Parties aren't your thing, you hate being around people, I get it; it's totally cool. I just thought you might try being sociable for once," Stiles huffs, and fixes Derek with a judgmental glare.

"I don't hate being around people." 

What Derek _does_ hate is how petulant he sounds, but he's just not good with words. He never has been, but he's trying to get better. 

"Your dad wouldn't have been too thrilled to have me here, so I didn't think it was a good idea." 

So _that's_ why. Stiles is overwhelmed with relief now that he knows Derek wasn't trying to avoid him personally.

"Dude. I _invited_ you, and you're always welcome here, okay?" Stiles assures him, his annoyance quickly melting away into a kind smile. "My dad knows you're not actually a criminal. If he wasn't cool with you being here, you'd know. Trust me."

Stiles is telling the truth, and Derek does trust him completely. "Thank you," he nods and reaches out to pat Stiles' bare foot. It's a weirdly intimate gesture, but Stiles doesn't flinch at the contact. 

Derek counts that as win. "I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier," he adds, while idly rubbing his thumb back and forth against Stiles' ankle. 

Stiles feels his heart rate spike again and prays that Derek doesn't notice. 

"You're here now, that's what counts," Stiles says, and he means it. Stiles firmly believes that everything happens for a reason, so maybe the universe is trying to tell him something. "Besides, it was kind of short anyway. Both my dad and Melissa are working overnight shifts, so we just had cake and pizza and then everyone left."

"What about Scott?"

"He had some studying to finish up, so Melissa gave him a ride home before she went to work," Stiles shrugs. "We had a good time, though." 

"So that's it?" Derek asks and notably has not removed his hand from Stiles' ankle. The heat from Derek's palm feels heavenly against Stiles' skin and makes him comfortably warm all over. 

"What's it?" Stiles tilts his head, adorably confused.

Derek wants to kiss him.

"You're not doing anything else tonight?"

"Nah," Stiles shakes his head, "just Netflix and leftover pizza."

"Want some company?" Derek offers, and gives Stiles' ankle a quick squeeze.

"Sure," Stiles grins, and nudges his foot back against Derek's hand. It's the most physical contact they've ever had when neither of their lives were in danger. Stiles isn't sure what's happening, (or why Derek is being uncharacteristically affectionate) but he'll take what he can get. 

"So … I have something for you," Derek mumbles, and produces a small box from the depths of his jacket.

"You got me a present?" Stiles doesn't try to hide his obvious delight, as he slides closer and presses right up against Derek's side. 

"Sort of," Derek winces, worrying that _present_ might be a little too generous of a description.

"Gimme," Stiles demands and pries the box from Derek's unsteady fingers. It opens with a snap, revealing the tiny metal object inside. 

"It's a key," he says, curiously examining it. "What's it to?"

"My loft," Derek answers simply, eyes downcast as he fidgets with the empty box.

_And my heart._

"Your loft? But I thought I wasn't allowed in there without supervision?" Stiles reminds him, using air quotes for emphasis.

Derek looks up and rolls his eyes. "How often have you and Scott actually obeyed that rule?"

Stiles gives him a sheepish look, and Derek can immediately smell the embarrassment pouring off of him. 

"My _point_ is, If you ever needed a quiet place to study, or some time alone ... " Derek trails off, bumping Stiles' shoulder lightly, and hoping he understands. 

"So even if you're not there, I can come over whenever I want?" Stiles verifies, just to be sure he's hearing this correctly. 

Derek nods.

"Only when you're not there?" Stiles can't help feeling slightly disappointed all of a sudden.

"You know you're welcome to come over whenever you want, whether I'm there or not," Derek clarifies. His palms are starting to sweat a little, so he discreetly rubs them against his jeans.

"For what exactly?" Stiles narrows his eyes, but they shine with crystal clear amusement.

"Anything you want; research, studying, watching movies …"

"That sounds suspiciously like an open invitation to hang out with you," Stiles winks, which makes Derek's entire body flush hotly.

Derek rolls his eyes again, but he manages a shy smile. "You wish."

"Wait." The light bulb goes on almost comically over Stiles' head as he starts to piece the information together. "Dude! Is this your weird wolfy way of telling me that you actually _like_ having me around?" 

Derek and Stiles get along fairly well these days, but they don't hang out on a regular basis. Their interactions typically revolve around research or supernatural emergencies. Sometimes both.

"Don't flatter yourself," Derek grumbles, although there's no heat behind his words.

"Oh my God, you do! Admit it! You like having me around," Stiles teases while poking Derek in his ridiculously firm chest. 

"What I would _like_ is for you to shut up," Derek groans, as he shoves Stiles backward. He lands ungracefully, but he retaliates by dragging Derek down with him. Derek is a lot heavier than he looks, but he's a comforting weight settled cautiously on top of Stiles. Derek is actually laughing now, and it's the most beautiful sound that Stiles has ever heard. 

"You should smile more," Stiles tells him sincerely, and oh God … Derek Hale _smiling_ has got to be the eighth wonder of the world. 

"I'll work on that," Derek laughs again, as he struggles to sit up. As much as he's enjoying this position, he doesn't want to crush the guy, either. 

"What's your rush?" Stiles asks nervously, his long fingers curling around Derek's biceps, pulling him closer. From this angle, Stiles can actually feel Derek's heart pounding against his own, and its exhilarating.

"No rush," Derek smiles widely, bathing Stiles in the sunshine that radiates from his face. 

And that's it; game _over_. Stiles is tired of wanting, so he finally decides to take action.

(And he is the birthday boy, after all.) 

The kiss is clumsy at first, all awkward angles and bumping noses. They laugh through it though, and it melts into something perfect. Soft lips shared breaths, and the warm slide of their tongues as they finally get it right. Derek kisses like he's starving for it, and Stiles reciprocates enthusiastically. 

Stiles has only kissed a couple of people before, but it's never been anything like this. Even though he doesn't have much to compare it to, he's certain that nothing could be better than kissing Derek. Not curly fries, summer days spent at the beach, or even the Mets winning the World Series, should it ever happen in Stiles' lifetime. _This_ is infinitely better, he thinks, as he relishes the feel of Derek's mouth against his. 

It's Derek who (reluctantly) breaks the kiss while smoothing his thumb over Stiles' plush lips. 

"Happy birthday, Stiles."

"Yes it is," Stiles agrees, after gently kissing the pad of Derek's thumb. "Thank you for the key," he adds and tilts his face up for another proper kiss. 

Derek happily complies and kisses Stiles until they're both breathless again. 

"Damn," Stiles pants a moment later when they finally come up for air. He reaches up to rub the back of Derek's neck, and savors Derek's solid weight on top of him. 

"What?" Derek bends down to kiss the upturned tip of Stiles' nose and admires the delicate blush he's rewarded with. 

"This. _Us_. This is a thing, right? You and I?"

"A _thing_?" Derek presses his face against Stiles' neck and inhales deeply. Stiles' scent is intoxicating, and Derek is finally allowed to experience it the way he's always wanted to. 

"Yes, a _thing_. You know, like dating? I mean, I suppose we don't have to label it, but I'd like to know that it's mutual," Stiles suggests while sliding his hands down Derek's back, and anchoring them against his hips.

"We can label it," Derek says, nuzzling softly against Stiles' skin. He's grateful Stiles can't see his face, because he knows he's blushing again. This has to be some kind of record for him.

"Really?" Stiles asks and nudges Derek's head back up so they're facing each other. 

"Yeah." 

Derek's cheeks are bright and rosy, and it's the cutest thing Stiles has ever seen. He's torn between wanting to kiss him, or cuddle him senseless. In the end, he does both because he _can_. He can have this, have _Derek_ , and the best part is that Derek wants him too. Stiles leans up to press their mouths together again, and wraps his arms tightly around Derek's neck.

"So I can call you my boyfriend?" Stiles asks when they pull apart and sifts his fingers through Derek's luxuriously thick hair. 

"Only if you don't give me any ridiculous pet names," Derek smirks, melting into Stiles' touch. 

"What about 'honey'?" Stiles tries, even knowing that it's going to be shot down.

"No," Derek shakes his head, and leans in to press soft kisses up Stiles' neck.

"Sweetie?"

"No."

"Baby?"

" _No_." Derek nips playfully at Stiles' shoulder. 

Stiles gives him an exaggerated pout in return. "Then what can I call you?"

" _Yours_ ," Derek smiles brightly, and kisses him to seal the deal.

Stiles can live with that.

~*~

Thanks for reading! You can find me over [on tumblr](http://prettyinsoulpunk.tumblr.com/), if you want to hang out and talk Sterek or Teen Wolf with me. :D


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